


Eaves of nightshade

by Ruiniel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Gen, Multi, Not Compliant With Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruiniel/pseuds/Ruiniel
Summary: When visiting Eryn Galen as an envoy, lord Glorfindel meets someone unexpected: the daughter of Ereinion Gil-galad, and his former charge. Many years have passed. Renieth is changed, and betrothed to young prince Legolas of the Silvan elves. Will old hurts heal or fester? What is wisdom?---DISCLAIMER: This fan fiction is intended for personal, non-commercial use only. No copyright infringement is intended.
Relationships: Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings,
> 
> This is an older story. I had recently posted this on an alternate account and now moved it under my main. A few things:
> 
> \- as we know, in canon, Ereinion Gil-galad never had a daughter;
> 
> \- timeline: around TA 1050, when the Shadow started to fester in the Greenwood;
> 
> \- this fanfiction will disregard the Laws and Customs among the Eldar regarding marriage (*gasp* scandal!). All my other fics take heed of it, so tried something different. I'll take other liberties, but this deviance should be called out in particular;
> 
> \- angst? Me?
> 
> \- perverted plot bunny alert: complete with a love triangle (*gasp again*) and drama;
> 
> \- Big Thank You, to my 'mystery beta' for helping to hone this.

**oOo**

_Eryn Galen, Third Age_

An unwholesome wind lashed at him as he pushed through the forest of heavy fir and oak. His horse hastened in a gallop, leaving darkened eaves behind, and his light carried forward straight as a spear. It was reflected in the beastly eyes that followed his passing from hidden crevices and burrows. He had been traveling without respite, making up for lost time. The great spider attack he had repelled on the way had certainly been an impediment to his journey; the wound acquired to his arm stung and hindered, but he would make do, having traveled in worse circumstances before. And Glorfindel had expected the woods of Eryn Galen to place its traps around him, as he heard it was wont to do lately. It had changed indeed, as all things in the world. It was larger, certainly older, and parts of it whispered around him. There was another, distinct scent of hidden, unsettling _otherness_ that he could not place. Its king also excelled at placing traps, Glorfindel thought wryly, but of a different kind. It was an old game, following typical patterns, but as one of the oldest elves left to walk Middle-earth Glorfindel had come to think little of petty grievances and courtly whims. But the elf-lord knew Thranduil had an innate propensity for such, and in all their years of collaboration, Glorfindel had come to know his way around certain kingly sensibilities.

It was known that lately, the Elvenking did not look with great love upon messengers and petitioners come from beyond his borders. Glorfindel considered this a keepsake of the Last Alliance, when he had seen a lonely prince set out with a fraction of his army towards their faraway homes. A pyramid of their fallen brethren still lay abandoned on the plains of Dagorlad. Still, Glorfindel, with his natural good humor and bright effusion would often reduce the occasional scowl to a mere frown, and helped in warming more than one cold welcome to the Woodland Halls. Now, however, the purpose he carried was his main concern. The sun had not yet risen when he reached the path still known to him, even after so many centuries away. A creature growled its vicious song from the shadows and the elf sharply turned his head, straining to sense its kind and intentions. But the noises faded as Gwedal, his steed and only companion since leaving Imladris, carried them forward at breakneck speed with his powerful grace.

The warrior winced as a strong sting of pain throbbed in his arm, where the beast had struck. It was a thin cut, but dark red flowered across the silver material of his riding tunic. It appeared rather harmless, truth be told, but he had not encountered such monstrous spawns before, and so had been rather taken aback at the time, seeing them slither from above to block his path with their engorged bodies and no less impressive number of slime-covered legs. He had erred, and one of the creatures found an opening. The poison could already be felt in his legs as a light shiver, and his arm was numbing. His fingers stubbornly clutched the reins as he tried a healing prayer in thought.

Gwedal whinnied, taking the elf out of his concentration, as if to say they had arrived. And indeed, lifting his head Glorfindel saw foreign eyes on him, flashing fey in the greying morning. Swift shadows passed around him. He heeded not the sentries, knowing they were merely minding their duties, and urged his four-legged companion onward. Moments later, horse and rider were speeding forward through the opening gates.

Deference he was used to, and had come to take in stride though Glorfindel had never been the type to expect it. The values he upheld and his sacrifice were cast about him as an impregnable shield, and though he was warm in manner and gratitude, it was akin to the restrained rays of a cold sun in the middle of winter. The elf-lord dismounted fluidly and was promptly shown to the stables by two green-clad guards who had been informed of his arrival beforehand. After ensuring Gwedal was stabled he followed the path towards the main reception hall and throne room, accompanied by the same two Silvan elves. They followed after him with a lively gait, their muted respect visible in the looks they exchanged.

His head pulsed strangely by now but the elf-lord thought nothing of it, thinking he would recuperate with proper rest soon enough. First, Glorfindel wanted to meet with the king, to get custom and fancy out of the way. His dark green cloak billowed softly about his legs, and his posture was flawless. His young face was drawn and paler than usual, set in a vague but rather pained frown.

Wide wooden doors opened before him. It smelled as he remembered - of root and fresh earth, of rich resin and green sap. It was a buoyant, real smell. Glorfindel breathed in.

He walked straight to the dais, where the throne lay in heightening wreaths, and he saw it was empty.

Instead, Thranduil stood before it. The king was garbed in plain courtier garments, a light grey tunic lined with silver thread, and fitted trousers. High, soft boots adorned his legs, and his hair streamed in moon shades down his shoulders.

Glorfindel smiled. He looked much as the elf-lord remembered him, with the difference that the young prince had certainly come into his own with the passing of an Age.

"High Lord Glorfindel," the king's voice resonated through the great chamber as Thranduil turned his full attention on the elf come before him. "You have reached our dwelling in good health-" he cocked a dark eyebrow when he remarked the uneven pattern of red on his guest's torn garb. "But you... appear to be wounded?"

Glorfindel regarded his arm briefly as though it belonged to someone else. "Oh, this," he said. "A nuisance. There is time. I wished to pay my respects first." He then looked to the king's left, where he saw another elf. One he had not seen in many, many long years.

Prince Legolas stood tall and stately, wearing his commander uniform of Silvan greens and browns. His grey eyes caught the bright ones of the older elf, and there was a softness in his gaze. "Ever the resolute leader. Be welcomed to the Greenwood, Lord Glorfindel," the prince brought his hand to his chest, saluting his former tutor.

As Glorfindel returned the gesture in kind he marveled at how much the once unruly and troublesome youth had changed. The need to learn more of him grew immediate. "It is good to find you both well," Glorfindel offered instead, his easy smile a ray of sun.

"Yes, yes," Thranduil waved a hand in a vague flourish. "Pleasantries aside, we are all as well as can be, but I think you have already seen things could be better," the king said pointedly, his eyes finding Glorfindel's injury anew. "I suggest you have that looked at sooner rather than later, my lord."

"I will ensure that he does," the prince stated then, and Glorfindel saw petitioners huddling close at the entrance of the throne room, a sign that another day of officiating legal matters was about to ensue.

"Settle in, my lord," Thranduil added, before turning on his heel and stepping toward the dais. "We shall speak soon enough."

The Imladris diplomat tilted his head with the deference required, "I leave you to your duties." He turned to the king's son, who beckoned him to follow and they left the cavernous hall together.

"It gladdens me to see you so grown into thyself, prince," Glorfindel could not help but add as they were pacing through the Silvan Halls. "I must confess," his smile turned rather impish. "I am in awe of you," he offered with a rise of his dark gold eyebrow, and a smirk that would have leveled any of the hapless maidens fawning over him behind this corner and that.

The prince's laughter rang clear as a bell. His hair shone of sable unlike his father's, flowing freely down his back. His jaw was hardened with maturity, and Glorfindel had to admire his form, lean and strengthened no doubt by hard training. And not last was his humor and manner, surely brighter than that of his father, or so he recalled. Yes, there was much to catch up on.

"Well, change is inevitable, is it not? But what you say is true, in more ways than one," Legolas said, taking another left. The prince had offered to show Glorfindel to his lodgings for the time of his stay.

When the elf lord had last seen the son of Thranduil, it was ten years before his coming of age, as the ashes of the Second Age blew into the Third. And now it felt good to witness and piece together what had turned him into who he was.

"How do you mean?" Glorfindel asked, returning to the present. The Ñoldorin elf-lord had always gotten along better with the heir of Eryn Galen than Thranduil cared for, knowing the regard of the latter for the Ñoldor in general. But even he could stand little against Glorfindel's effortless manner and placating temper. Memories abounded, from a time of discovery and healing.

"What you said earlier. That I am... different?" Legolas looked ahead with a grin.

Glorfindel smirked in turn, but he had to hear this. "Do go on."

"Well, not only am I fully leading our scouting missions for centuries now, courtesy of my earned rank," he said with a hidden ribbon of pride the other elf easily caught, "But I am also to be wed, my lord."

Glorfindel would have tripped on his legs, had his innate grace not gotten in the way of his astonishment. Growing up, the prince had been the object of fawning from many a lovestruck maiden, but he never heeded them, nor their innocent wiles. At the time, his focus was on his own training and the honing of his skill, and his attention would settle on little else. Glorfindel opened his mouth but little came out. "You truly have changed," he succeeded to say, smiling in the end. He had always expected this would happen sooner or later, after all. "Will I have the pleasure of meeting her?"

The prince tipped his chin downward. "That is where we are heading."

Glorfindel forced his smile to stand herald. "I am honored, prince. I truly am."

They reached a suspended garden as they continued sharing novelties of the world on their way. Soon Glorfindel was surrounded by moss and ivy, and a small pool opened its crystal eye in the middle of the wide, irregular space. A fountain spilled its cold water from the mouths of curling grey stonefish. Couples walked leisurely and at ease, arms linked, and quiet murmurs filled the space.

Prince Legolas was now looking intently for his betrothed while Glorfindel stood by his side, inwardly still reeling from his reveal. His gaze roamed without purpose across the pool, taking in no detail in particular.

She struck his awareness as burning coal from a forge. Glorfindel felt stunned, his vision caught in a sudden, swelling tremor. Mist layered over his eyes, and a heaviness pressed on his chest, making it feel heavy as if burdened with river stones.

Her midnight eyes rested on him only a moment, before cutting away as another voice caught her attention. Glorfindel blinked away the vision. But he still saw her, straight and slight, her hair a dark net spilling down her round shoulders. Slowly turning his head to see the prince, Glorfindel noticed what had drawn her eye. Or better yet, who.

She was coming closer, then she was there. She was reaching for the prince, and he was taking her hand in his. She met his eyes again. Their restless blue held forgotten storms, and Glorfindel cast his gaze downward.

"Lord Glorfindel," Legolas spoke then, and the elf-lord forced his eyes to move from their joined hands to the prince's face. "Meet my future wife, the lady Renieth Ereiniel." His face showed a strange shade of emotion as he spoke, and Glorfindel felt his knees weaken at the joints.

His mind was trapped between the shock of memory and the surreal quality of the moment. His lips parted, and the word spoken was a shadow. "Aranye," he succeeded in the end, hanging on the rim of her dark scouring pools. He did not see the prince raise an eyebrow in askance.

She was silent at first. Her gaze was cold, her lips thinning. Her slight mouth quivered before the words left her throat, ground like sand. The elleth inclined her head in courtly deference. "Laurefindil. Well met. It has been a long time."

His heartbeat was wild in his breast. Glorfindel tried a reply but his tongue felt numb in his mouth, and a feverish heat spread from his arm all the way to his chest. His lips felt sewn shut and so he could barely speak as the prince reached for him with worry in his eyes.

"My lord, are you unwell?..." she spoke again, the words singsonged and drifting on fog, falling over him like cliffs sliding on the paths of memory.

He may have been swaying on his feet, he could not tell. His lips moved again but could utter no more than shreds of words as Glorfindel then recalled what this sudden spell might be owed to. He tried to see, blinking rapidly, but the shadow grew thick and suffocating. "I think... my injury... poisoned-..." It was all he said before his eyes rolled back, and even with his struggle he felt his body failing, then all went dark.

**oOo**

"Laurefindil, Laurefindil!"

He turned from his musing at the sound of his name, his eyes torn from the swaying waves. The day had given way to dusk, and it had been one of clear skies and mild winds. The golden-haired Elf breathed the salty breeze, his chest filling with the rush and flow come from the sea depths.

In his service to High King Gil-Galad, Glorfindel had many responsibilities, some more important than others, but few more pleasant than this. Those of military ilk he would dutifully oversee. Times were turbulent and none knew what the day would bring, as his kin had learned from living through the past two Ages of the world. He sighed, wishing for once not to be taken back to those struggles. Though healed and patched in Mandos following his fall, memories remained cloistered in his spirit and at times would rear and blacken his mood.

And speaking of responsibilities, before him now stood one of the more difficult but rewarding ones.

Renieth was breathless when she reached his side. She took him by the arm. "Look, look a whale! Do you see it? Look there, to the East!"

Ereinion Gil-Galad had few treasures apart from his legacy and his people, and his rule was steady and strong. The harbor city of Forlond, which the High Elves had built after settling in the last surviving piece of land once forming part of Beleriand, prospered well enough.

Glorfindel watched the maiden for a moment, smirking at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. He followed her pointing finger. Indeed he saw the tip of a tail splashing silver foam away in the far distance, just where the Gulf of Lune flowed into the sea. Yes, the king had few treasures. He was currently standing near the only one he cherished.

"I do see it, well done," he smiled into the horizon before looking back at the youth. Her father's eyes stared back at him, a near purple in the fading light. Renieth had not yet come of age, but her will and presence were the hallmarks of her kingly line indeed. Her long, dark hair was again loose and void of any braiding to the eternal terror of her handmaid, her light blue dress wet and clinging to her legs after a spree in the shallow waters kissing the shore.

Glorfindel himself was unshod, his plain grey tunic reaching to his knees, his trousers rolled up to his calves. When he had accepted the duty of being guardian to the king's daughter, not all the years spent in Valinor prepared him for the intricacies of handling young elves, even less young maidens. He had been uncertain at first though hid it well when the request was made. _"I would trust no other,"_ Gil-Galad had said.

When the king had then brought a thin, wide-eyed, and tempestuous youngling before him who threw daggers his way, Glorfindel had been about to refuse a king for the first time in his life. But, as was usually the case with him, duty won over his misgivings, and he had accepted. Renieth had thrown him a baleful glance, turned, and fled, leaving both her king and her guardian behind.

That was the beginning.

It had been a hard time for both, at first. _"I need no minder!"_ she would throw at him over her shoulder, _"I am no dim-witted babe! Away with you!"_

He had still followed, grim-faced, and tight jawed, inwardly beseeching Námo to take him back to Mandos for at least one shred of peace, which he barely ever saw any more in those days. He had kept his distance through unruly tempers and evasive plotting. If Renieth wanted to avoid him like the plague - and she did - Glorfindel would happily oblige. But then guilt would brim and he would seek for her again, watching from afar to ensure the beastling did not break her legs climbing any towers, kept out of the servants' way, and did not resort to destroying invaluable library tomes again.

 _"Why are you always here! Go away!"_ or _"I do not deserve this damnable punishment. I will speak to my father!"_ she would hiss imperiously. Only a few of the daily barbs she threw his way.

And Glorfindel would sigh a million long-suffering sighs and would thank the Valar when the time came to oversee his military duties instead.

But Renieth had grown and flourished, and without either of them really noticing, change came. His statute as her guardian stayed true, and after a while, she no longer grumbled when he escorted her to this place and that. She no longer sought a hiding place when she knew it was time for Glorfindel to aid with her training. She would prepare beforehand more often than not, relinquishing her favorite game of having him wait outside her chamber doors for minutes verging on hours until she was ready. The daughter of Gil-galad had come to learn more of the world, and in time, possibly appreciate who he was and what he had done. And in the end, friendship grew between them.

Now she stood facing him, brimming with youth verging into maturity, steady of gaze, and eager to share with him her small joys.

"Well done indeed, and I win, my lord," Renieth teased, one slight finger pointing at his chest. "And you know the wager. Tonight, you dance."

His frown made her chuckle. "I most certainly will not."

Renieth crossed her arms. "That was the wager. You took it. I said that I saw them, you asked me to prove it. I did. Or does the lord Laurefindil only keep his word when it suits?"

"Aranye..." For a long time, he had taken to calling her by her Quenya name. It was their way.

"No, you promised. Imagine the look on their faces!"

He shook his head. "You are being childish."

Whatever else he may have uttered, it was lost with the way Renieth barrelled into him, and even Glorfindel lost his balance with the swiftness of her movements. The sand was warm beneath him, but it was also in his mouth and ears. A slight face hovered in his view, framed by salty locks with midnight eyes now twinkling mirthfully above him. "I am no longer a child, even you know that."

"Rise and let me up, or you go alone to your dancing tonight," he demanded.

A half-smile graced her mouth. Her arms were propped on his shoulders. "Make me."

He could never stay upset with her for long. However, the time for such liberties would soon be over. She had the right of it - she was no longer a child. Maturity had long begun to shape both her body and mind, though sparks of youth still fringed her impulses.

He was fast on his feet, even with her struggling and laughing in his arms.

"Put me down, you cannot! Put me down! Laurefindil! You will regret this!"

Still smiling he carried her, futile resistance and all, to the shore. He advanced into the rising water. "No," he took her chin between his fingers. "You will." And he dropped her.

Renieth gasped when cold water doused her sun-warmed skin. She thrashed to be free of him as a famed balrog slayer jestingly dunked the head of a young elleth beneath the sea. Her laughter glittered along the shore, lost on the faraway winds.

**oOo**

His head felt like an impending avalanche. Glorfindel opened his eyes and gazed upon straight walls and torchlight. He stirred, his vision quick in adjusting to the gloom. He looked himself over to find that he was bare waist up, and his arm was bandaged over skillfully in white linen. The pungent, aromatic scent of healing herbs wafted through the chamber.

"You are awake."

Glorfindel turned his head but had to immediately place a hand to his forehead. All was spinning, and a wave of nausea hit him. He remembered who he was, where he was, and who he was with. The shore and the sea had been a distant figment.

Prince Legolas was looking at him with gentle eyes. "It will be a while until you feel better, from what I gather. It is the aftermath of the poison." He frowned. "You should have mentioned it was a greater spider that struck at you."

Glorfindel lay back down against the large white pillow, his lips yet a pale bruise. "I did not know there was a difference," he croaked drily.

The prince sighed. "There is. Greater spider venom can only be purged with an antidote, and even our kind, for all our endurance, require such." His face grew grim and dark. "They had only appeared in recent years. We try and destroy as many nests as we find, but they seem to multiply in earnest and their numbers are ever-growing. I trust you see why your coming here is invaluable at this time."

Glorfindel nodded wearily. "You will have to show me all your recent reports and mapping."

The prince inclined his head in agreement, leaning against the back of his chair. "There will be time for that, yes."

Silence fell between them, soon interrupted by Glorfindel's wheezing cough. Breathing was difficult, as though air failed to fill his lungs properly. "When will this devilry wear off?" he asked, rising to sit in bed. It was a hard feat, and he fell back against the pillow.

Legolas looked to the door, pondering. He ran a hand through his hair, appearing tired in turn. "You should feel better in a day or two since the antidote was administered late." The prince crossed his arms at his chest in the ensuing silence, which neither broke for a time.

"I never expected you and my Renieth to be acquainted."

Glorfindel began coughing again. The sea, the shore. He closed his eyes so he would not have to meet the grey ones he felt on him.

_'My Renieth.'_

"We are," he said. Then, as the recent past came back to him, the elf-lord remembered what a strange sight their encounter must have been to the prince.

He turned to Legolas, who had been staring at him, patient and expectant. "I served her father during my time in Lindon. I acted as her guardian for a time, in Forlond." Before the War had come and changed everything.

A risen eyebrow. "She never spoke of it." The words came mildly, but their meaning was clear. _She never spoke of you._

Glorfindel masked his inner tumult with a shrug, reclining back onto the bed with a grimace of discomfort. He closed his eyes, feeling grateful for his distracting physical ailments. "I can see why. There is not much worth telling."

They finished with a promise from Glorfindel that he would share at least one story to be used for tender embarrassment, after which the discussion moved to other, more pressing topics. When the prince left him Glorfindel felt unmatched relief. All those years, and he had no inkling that she was here. But then, she had always aimed high.

His mind was stretched and worn, and despite his ill mood, stubbornly clinging to the memory of a windswept shore with smiling skies; of each grain of sand against his back, and a voice carried by the breeze.

_"Do you see it? Look there, to the East!..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names glossary:
> 
> Aranye - Free (Quenya) / Renieth - Free (Sindarin)
> 
> Laurefindil (Quenya) - Glorfindel


	2. Chapter 2

**oOo**

Renieth paced back and forth through her chamber, breathing in the fresh air reaching from the nightly woods. She listened to the weak murmur of the river rushing restlessly below the great cave, mimicking her own thoughts. She had dwelled here for centuries now, but its music invariably held a different tune as the years went by.

A wreath of diminishing yellow candles burned on a wrought iron table in one corner, casting their lone light over her sheer figure. Her white nightdress billowed gently about her bare feet. She was dressed for rest, but that was one goal hardly achievable for the time being. She was waiting.

Her arms wrapped around herself, Renieth leaned against one of the stone pillars in the room. Thranduil had spared no comfort in his cavernous palace, and all living areas were the epitome of such. Renieth still thanked the stars as she had been granted a space carved into one remote, upper side of the great cavern, where the sounds of the forest could reach her. Not that it mattered too much where she dwelled if Legolas was there. Her thoughts thrashed against their silent bonds. It was possible he had been caught in another council meeting. His father would have no trouble summoning the prince when dire need called, that she knew. There were wrongs spreading their tentacles across the world, and vigilance became a constant necessity. She would join the prince on most scouting missions herself, however much the king rolled his eyes in disapproval and veiled concern. If her mate was to lead such a life, she would lead it with him. And Renieth had never been one to stand meek and idle while others bled. This particular thought brought memories of another life to the fore, and it was hard to drown them.

Another life, and one particular face. Drawn and disarmingly honest. He looked exactly the same, stepping straight out of the murk of memory. She had decided not to dwell on him earlier, not to linger on the past. But his eyes, when he had finally spotted her in the garden - Renieth smiled to no one, thinking of the sheer panic and disbelief having gripped her in body and mind at the sight of him. The way he stood there, his light waxing blindly in the depths. Her courage shamefully left her and she would have fled then, had Legolas not been there looking for her. Renieth let her temple rest against the cold stone.

_Laurefindil._

The word was a wound in her mouth. Legolas had told her nothing of his coming, but why would he? She had never whispered a word of him to any living soul. Had she known, she may have taken one of the scouting expeditions to the southern eaves. Perhaps there was yet a chance of it.

Though, in a way, it was good to know he lived. It had been over a millennium since they had last seen each other, not knowing whether either of them walked these shores any longer.

Bright, stern, yellow-haired Laurefindil. Now of all times, and here of all places. Renieth considered lying to herself but denial never suited her. Seeing him again had torn a well hidden lock, and a torrent of scarred emotions had her swaying nearly as much as he was at the time. He should be faring better by now. She had calculated the estimates in her mind, having seen the way these poisons act time and again. Yes, by now he should be feeling more aware of himself. Perhaps he would be staring at the ceiling of the healing ward, a lonely visitor smothered in bandages. Some elleth or other would be fawning over him.

Renieth wrung her hands, then brought them in her hair, tousling it in aggravation. Confusion caused a frown, and she slowly bit down the hurts such ideas summoned. The vision of a wretched, crying heap of aching need, her dark hair in her face. A grim elf much taller than she, still as stone, clad in heavy battle armor. Of her falling into him, and him holding her upright as many, many times before.

 _'Laurefindil, please...'_ The sickly pallor of his hands, the way they gripped her shoulders.

His eyes, when he recognized her. The elleth had never seen that expression on him before - maybe she had finally done something to surprise him, Renieth thought bitterly.

Her thought was interrupted by sound and movement as the chamber doors creaked slowly, and someone entered. Turning her head, Renieth saw her prince slowly closing the doors behind him, and their eyes met.

"Will you still have me, princess?" the son of Thranduil asked rather cautiously as he neared, using the stealthy steps he did when approaching possible perils out in the wilds.

"I thought you would never come," Renieth countered in jest, and her brimming smile was genuine. She went to him even as the prince graced her with a grin of his own, extending one arm and bringing her into his embrace.

"Forgive me, but Lord Glorfindel had awoken, and I stood by his side for a while," he spoke against her.

Renieth let her head fall against his shoulder, so he would not see her face. "I see. He fares better, then."

"And he is fast to recover, as expected," Legolas said, rocking with her gently in his arms.

A heartbeat passed.

"You never told me of him," she spoke into his tunic.

"Neither did you," the prince replied in kind.

It was meant to be easy banter, but Renieth felt like a lone fish caught in the nets. "There is not much to tell," she said in the end.

She felt his hands trailing up and down her back, and sensed he was still smiling as he spoke. "He said the same, would you believe it."

Renieth pressed her eyes tightly shut.

"But I will get a story or two worth telling out of your former protector yet," his voice was laced with mischief.

Renieth lifted her head from his shoulder, looking down between them. "You could ask _me_ instead, you know."

The prince huffed a short laugh. "And where is the joy in that?" He searched her face, his features changing in a bemused frown. "Is something the matter?"

Why could he always tell? Renieth cursed her lack of skill in hiding. She had always been terrible at it. Even Laurefindil...

She turned and, still holding him by the arm, dragged a grinning prince of the Woodland Realm after her. He protested not at all, laughing softly as she pushed him onto her bed, the material of her nightdress bunching up to her thighs when she straddled him. Renieth took a moment, looking him over in feigned contemplation. The prince was smiling in that way which always undid her, his grey eyes hooded, drinking her in. There was a playful gleam in her eyes when she spoke, "Yes, plenty is the matter."

"Such as... me coming to your chamber in the middle of the night?" His grin was warmer.

His hair was fanned about him in messy, shining black, and Renieth smoothed a few strands out of his face. She then reached and with little effort - not that her prisoner was struggling too much to begin with - pinned his hands down by the wrists on either side.

"No. But this, for instance..." Renieth looked between them, to his leather belt, and pressing down further on his hips she saw his smile turn fey. Holding his gaze she released his hands and deftly unfastened the item, pulled at it, and carelessly let it fall somewhere onto the floor. "And here," she added, taking to removing one of his arm-guards, then the other. Meeting no protest, Renieth leaned closer to him, her fingers working on the hem of his collar. "And there's another grave matter we have here," her voice was fainter now, owed partly to the way his hands had begun to feel and roam along her body. Renieth felt them on her thighs, keeping her bound down to him. Her face was flushed bright red by now, but tonight of all nights any distraction would do. She undid the seams of his garment one by one until it came easily discarded. "I believe we are on the right course, though," Renieth ran her palms over his chest, now clad in a plain silk undershirt. Up and down she went, taking her time, tracing each and every part of him. They knew each other in more ways than one by now and Renieth could not tire of him, nor of the way he brought her to her knees.

"What else?" her betrothed challenged then, rising with a dark smirk and bringing her flush into his lap. Still smiling, he grasped the back of her head, and pressed his mouth to hers.

Renieth let him lead, allowing the wet velvet of him to feel her, washing away the evening's dust and memories.

_'Laurefindil, please...'_

She kissed him deeper, as though searching for a cure, allowing him to maneuver and turn with her until she was trapped beneath him.

"What else, Renieth?..." her lover asked, biting down softly on her lower lip as they continued their game. Renieth felt her nightdress being slid up above her waist, her breasts, gone over her head.

Pleasure was as good a remedy as any, and the voice in her head died completely with the teasing of a sensitive spot along her ear, and lips fondly following a path to the hollow of her neck.

"Well?" her prince requested in that same voice that undid her, his smile gone with the way she squirmed and sighed.

Behind them, the candles had died in their corner, leaving behind a sweet, fading scent of burnt resin.

Her fingers were eager and grasping, and her voice was weak. "Well..." she complied rather breathlessly, "...-there is also this..."

**oOo**

_Forlond, Lindon, late Second Age_

Her legs dangled in the air as Renieth sat with her gaze cast to the restless waters below, sunken in thought. She was seated at the edge of a suspended stone bridge, built close to the strip of rocky land marking the fringes of the Forlond harbor city and settlement. The bridge led to a great watchtower, but at this time of night, the path and surroundings were deserted. This was a time of celebration, but the reminder only made Renieth quirk her mouth tiredly and with some amount of distaste. It was a chilly night, made colder by the harsh seawinds reaching from the west. She had forgotten to take her cloak, and now was hugging herself to warm her prickling skin. Below, waves flung their foaming mouths against the ragged cliffs standing guard for ages past.

Renieth inhaled the salty mist rising in the air, carried to her by the breeze. She sighed. At least there was peace to be had. She had left the palace, needing solitude, and so disappeared from the eyesight of any who would wonder. As luck had it, her father had retired early and her friends, trapped in their own wiles and enjoyment, had scarcely noticed her departure. Things had become animated in the gardens and voices raised in joyous song dimly reached her from afar. Even Laurefindil had been indulging in the fragrant honey wine offered for the occasion, despite his otherwise restrained manner when it came to merriment and consuming mind addling substances. She frowned. Yes, Laurefindil, and lady Seidiel. The silver-haired, star-eyed Telerin Seidiel, so very prim and proper, with her hand trailing up and down his forearm. They appeared caught in a discussion when Renieth made to leave, and she had not disturbed them.

She wondered at these rather trying new thoughts, and why in recent years such things came to her notice as they had not in the past. Her guardian had always held to himself and seemed utterly disinterested in matters of the heart, despite many of his companions and friends having taken spouses early on. Renieth had even briefly wondered whether he preferred males as opposed to the fairer gender, but then revoked the thought when nothing of his habits or behavior hinted at either one or the other. Tonight, however, he had been no less than gallant and, from what Renieth could tell, eagerly inclined towards that infuriatingly perfect elleth. Her clear laughter at something he had said still chimed as rusty bells in her ears.

Renieth brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Staring into the black waters striving ahead, she had been lost for a while before Renieth heard signs of movement, and light steps drawing nearer. She did not turn to see who it was, not until she heard a shift of material, and breathed the scent of summer she knew so well.

Glorfindel fluidly sat down by her side, leaning back with his palms propped against the stone. He crossed his legs at the ankles.

Her heartbeat was ruthless, but Renieth did not turn. He was so near she felt a few gilded strands touch her cheek as the winds blew them in this direction and that.

The warrior followed the sight of a risen full moon, layering a silvery grin over shore and sea. "I have never known one to flee their own coming of age celebration," Glorfindel spoke first.

Renieth gave a coarse hiss of impatience. "I did all that was required of me." She had been joyful indeed and eager as the day began, and now her foul mood confused her more than anything. Her mind kept taking her back to the images of her guardian, smiling as an obliging Seidiel regaled him with some tale or other.

Seeing her hunched over herself and close to shivering, Glorfindel undid his cloak and placed it around her shoulders.

Renieth moved not away, but did nothing to fasten the material around herself either. It had something of him, warming her from head to toe. What she failed to place was the sweet ache as she drank in his scent, nearly sighing aloud. "What are you doing here?" she asked abruptly.

Glorfindel looked her way, an eyebrow lifted. "You disappeared. I wanted to see that you were well."

"But how did you _know_ it was me?" The elleth did not usually come here and had deliberately avoided any of the places her guardian knew she frequented.

Glorfindel turned his sight to the moonlit sky. "I would know you anywhere." His voice held that same unflinching honesty. It was a simple truth for him.

So the lady Seidiel apparently had not garnered his undivided attention. Still, her words came bitten at the edges. "I am surprised Seidiel could spare you."

He frowned, appearing puzzled. "Who?"

Renieth rolled her eyes majestically and finally looked at him. "Truly, Laurefindil. Lady Seidiel, whom you were speaking to for most of the evening?"

The elf-lord blinked several times. If any thought passed his mind, it did not show. "Ah. I confess, her name escaped me. And in truth I could quite barely escape her," he said with a shadow of jest in his voice.

"Of course," Renieth muttered tightly.

She felt him reach to gently turn her by the shoulders. She let him. She liked it when he touched her. "What is wrong, Aranye?"

"Nothing is wrong," Renieth stared away, into the black horizon. "Why would anything be wrong?"

"You have reached maturity, and still you are a terrible liar," Glorfindel said drily, tilting his head to look at her in bemusement.

Renieth grumbled something he did not hear.

"That is good to know," he teased. Her pouting had a freshness to it. Releasing her shoulders, her former guardian reached inside his tunic to retrieve an object. "This, also, was part of the reason I was searching for you."

Renieth wished he would go and leave her to stew in her confusion, on her own terms. But then she did not. Renieth could not see her days without him for a while now, and worried over what the elf-lord would think if he knew.

"Renieth, will you sulk or look?"

Annoyed, Renieth set her gaze on what was in his palm. Her cobalt eyes went wide. "What... is this?"

Glorfindel held the pendant up for her to see better. "This is my gift to you, for your coming of age."

It was a piece of rarity and great skill. The mithril chain was so slight one could barely tell it was there, and a small, round pendant of iridescent moonstone glowed against his pale hand.

Her blood raged within her. "You mean, for-..." her words failed as their eyes held. His smile was small and sweet. Renieth wondered what it would taste like, before a blush crept in hot tingles up her neck, reaching all the way to her cheekbones. She tried burying the thought. "Thank you, this is... this is kind."

"May I?" his smile was like fire, flowing to her own face, cheering her state with an odd flavor of giddiness.

Renieth caught his meaning and so turned with her back to him, his cloak falling from her shoulders. She felt his larger hand brush away the dark mass of her hair, and looked down to see the stone nestled in the hollow of her neck. She bit down on the inside of her lip when his fingers touched her skin to fasten the pendant. When Renieth turned to face him again, her grin was wider than the moon. "I will honor this. For as long as I live."

"Which will be a long, long time, or so we hope," his smile turned crooked.

"If fate would have it," Renieth said, her eyes a shade deeper when seeing him so. Then, without really thinking and before she lost her nerve she leaned over to him with eager swiftness, and placed her lips just shy of the corner of his mouth in a kiss.

When Renieth felt him stiffen she immediately withdrew to see his face. They stared at each other for so long the daughter of Gil-galad did not even know when she began to shiver with the cold again.

"Do you truly not care for Seidiel?" Renieth dared ask anyway, cursing herself inwardly for somehow having upset him. But the thought nagged and broke like waves against her mind, and it would churn until she had an answer.

"No," he was still watching her, as though come upon a great discovery, and not a pleasant one at that. "I care for none as you imply," came yet another, simple truth.

Renieth looked down between them, her slight forefinger touching the gem at the base of her neck. She decided to change the topic. "What happens now?" she asked, very aware of the change in his manner, and troubled for having upset him. Renieth had merely wanted to show her thanks, and his abrupt retreat stung too much for comfort. She wondered at the wall risen just now, and if there were ways to breach it.

Glorfindel brought one knee to his chest and rested an elbow against it. His smile was gone. "Now, you require no guardian. You can do whatever you wish, go wherever you wish, make a life for yourself. Maybe wed a prince or other, raise a family, I do not know."

Renieth pressed her eyes shut. "Are your words meant to hurt?"

Glorfindel stopped speaking, and soon appeared lost in other thoughts.

"Of course, I need no guardian," Renieth broke the silence having become stale between them. "But I will always need a friend," she looked sideways at him.

"That I can happily oblige, Aranye," her friend said, though his voice was still withdrawn, lacking the warmth of earlier. But Renieth still felt less miserable at his words, her spirits lifting a little.

"And I will not wed," she grumbled, "...certainly not any princes. Ever."

Glorfindel shook his head, showing a pale smile. "You say this now..."

"Why should that be unusual," Renieth snapped despite herself. "You never did."

"My path is not your own."

She suddenly felt ire, and to her further dismay it was directed at him, despite reason confirming she had no right. "I will never _wed_ , as you call it. I would rather run into the wilds, live free like the Avari."

"Do that, then."

Renieth sharply turned to face him. "This is it? This is the sage advice of one famed, blessed warrior of Valinor?" The pendant burned at her throat.

Glorfindel was frowning now. "Why are you angry?"

The moon was then misted over slowly by a stray cloud, and the night grew darker around them. Renieth impatiently brushed her unruly windblown hair out of her face. "I am not angry," she said evenly. His aloof behavior rankled more than she dared admit.

"Again, you lie."

Renieth rose from her place then, his unsettled eyes following her. "I am _not_ angry. And I do not lie. I want no life that you speak of, and you are too blind to see what I do want. Goodnight, former lord of Gondolin. Again I thank you for your gift."

And with that she turned on her heel, dropping his cloak and moving swiftly through the night, in return to the palace grounds.

Glorfindel stood in her wake and watched her leave. His gaze was thoughtful and sad with understanding, his hands fisted at his sides with the strain of his invoked restraint.


	3. Chapter 3

**oOo**

"My lord, I see your condition has much improved," Legolas greeted the warrior of Imladris as Glorfindel neared him, fast and steady on his feet from another corridor.

"I do feel more like myself," Glorfindel acceded. He was better indeed, and the healers had worked their skill flawlessly, being used to treating such injuries no doubt. Physically Glorfindel felt as new, the rest and hot draught he had ingested earlier aiding his sprint. "It seems there is quite a lot to relearn of this land," he added as they continued forward to the military quarters, built outside the network of caverns making the halls of Thranduil king. Once there, Glorfindel was to hear the latest reports from the returning scouts together with Legolas and sift through the old ones.

They descended two more levels and crossed luminous chambers, reached sets of suspended stone stairs, and were soon striding beyond the great gate. They went across the training field where recruits and trainees were engaged in close quarters combat, sparring, or otherwise honing their archery skills. Glorfindel watched them with a critical eye, following the techniques he was familiar with and had once even imparted upon others. "I am impressed, prince of Eryn Galen, these displays are mostly flawless, as is their form."

"Need drives us, my lord," the son of Thranduil smiled. Then, he added, "We have lost more than we can spare to the darkening of our land." He looked ahead. "It does not cease."

Loss. Glorfindel could well relate to that, and the frustrated tone of words was not lost on him. It was the duty of a prince as second to his king to shield their people and ease their hardship, and that, even to one accustomed, was a heavy weight to carry. The elf-lord again knew this all too well, just as he knew the onslaught of guilt and self-doubt with every name erased, every burial, every aggrieved family.

The day was bright and the air smelled of fresh sap, melding with the hearty scent of evergreen fir. The elves reached the barracks, where soon after the captains of two scouting companies appeared to relay their findings. The state of the southern side of the forest was grim. Apparently, it was teeming with scattered groups of orcs and goblins, and the spawn of Ungoliant were more prevalent than was seen in the previous incursion in the area months ago. A few standing Silvan dwellings had been uprooted, their denizens evacuated. This happened with more frequency than before, and year by year Thranduil was forced to draw in his borders as the threat grew, swallowing great areas of pristine wilderness. Glorfindel listened and noticed how the prince darkened in manner as more and more details were relayed.

"Thank you, Geloril," Legolas said when the last captain had finished. He looked to Glorfindel. "I must head out there myself. We need a complete mapping of the area. Lord Elrond had the right of it. Something stirs in the southern eaves, and it is more than stray evils wandering and wreaking havoc."

Glorfindel could not deny that direct observation of the unknown was best, when possible, and when the benefits outweighed the risk. "He has dispatched me here to aid and bring back word of what ails these lands. Eryn Galen has my support, you know this."

The prince gave a tired smile and a deep incline of his head. "That, I do not doubt, my lord."

Once they had heard all the scouts had to share, Legolas led his guest to the armory before setting for the practice field. They spoke of different surveying techniques the Silvan elves used and were proficient in so that Glorfindel could get a sense of their approach. He had to admit their ways seemed simple at first glance, but the finesse of it lay in their stealth and the lightness of their wares and weapons. Though nimble himself and knowing his way around any tree or height as demand would have it, Glorfindel could not fail to observe the Silvans' vitality and particular sleekness. They were one with their woods, and this was more than home to them. Now it was hurting, and all felt it. Glorfindel thought back to what was happening in Arnor where Men dwelled, and how darkness was said to spread there from the North on black wings.

They both fell silent, and in an effort to relieve the prince's mind Glorfindel began speaking of what had changed in both their lives through the churning of time, drawing his attention on lighter, more trivial matters by comparison.

"And you had been in Imladris, ever since?" Legolas was asking.

Glorfindel was walking and now braiding his hair loosely away from his face, a habit acquired before weapons training. "I remained in service of Elrond, who after the war stayed in Imladris indefinitely. After all, he is a scion of the king I served in Gondolin. He needed me, and I stayed."

"Yes," Legolas said, a thin smile on his face, "I recall father reading me the tale."

Glorfindel laughed shortly, his hand wrapping around the hilt of the sword at his hip. "That was either a jab or you think too highly of your elders."

"Never without cause, my lord," Legolas retorted as they reached the training field. The prince ran his fingers along a sleek bow of yew held in his hand. A quiver was slung across his chest. He wore the plain garb of the Silvan folk, though his hair was braided in the manner of the Sindar.

"When it comes to your father, I beg to differ," the older elf taunted. Glorfindel saw his expression change as the prince looked ahead of them. The elf-lord late noticed what had taken all of his attention.

Her blade wailed against another in a long sweep as Renieth advanced for the offensive. Her opponent, an elleth of the Silvan Guard, was fast on her feet. Her fiery hair shone in the afternoon sun. But the daughter of Gil-Galad appeared not so easily subdued, and she fought on, her brows knit together in concentration. She wore similar garments to Legolas, a plain tunic belted at the waist and fitted trousers tucked in high boots. Her hair was tightly woven in one long plait.

Glorfindel could do nothing but watch, the past ignited with each stroke and stance, with each sliding step and panting breath. Without wanting or indeed noticing, he took heed of every mistake, appraised every successful maneuver. In the end, her opponent had yielded, a blade to her neck.

"This is how we met, you know," a voice intruded on his thoughts. Legolas was gazing her way, appearing somewhere else.

The words came with some difficulty, but even so, he asked. "How do you mean?" Masking his emotions was not something fair Glorfindel resorted to usually, but now he took it head-on, as another trial to complete.

Legolas kept looking to Renieth, who was now taking a swig of water, her longsword dancing back in the scabbard at her hip. "Fighting." A grin formed on his face. "We met fighting," he shook his head at something Glorfindel hoped he would not share. "We fought each other, our enemies, our selves. It is a long tale. I might force it upon you one day."

Glorfindel smiled tightly, hoping he would never get to hear of it.

"In that respect, not much has changed," Legolas continued as he propped his bow against a tree trunk and strode to his future wife, leaving Glorfindel a few steps behind.

The elf-lord followed and watched the prince reach his mate, gallantly sweeping her into his arms.

Renieth shrugged him off with a grin. "You are making a spectacle of us, prince," she denounced with a lightly hissed voice as said shamed royalty kept one arm wrapped around her. Her smile dropped upon looking over the prince's shoulder.

The elf-lord gave a polite nod. "Aranye."

"Laurefindil. You are faring better." The words were spoken as one would dismiss a goblet of wine. Renieth then worriedly watched Legolas, who was pacing away to arrange an archery practice target.

"All in thanks to swifter hands and minds than my own," Glorfindel replied, his gaze drifting across the field.

"Fortunate that it was discovered in time. The poison, that is."

"Yes."

His eyes followed the trajectory of a hawk, flying in wide circles across the skies, high above their heads.

"Are you content, Aranye?" It was ludicrous. He should not have asked such a thing. But truth be told, Glorfindel knew not what else to ask, if anything at all. He might have asked why she left without a trace, all those _yéni_ ago. Why she denounced her birthright. Why she had not waited for his return. But instead, he demanded the answer he had already seen. Perhaps it was the desire to hear it from her. A part of him thought he deserved to.

Renieth was silent. Driven by the shadow of a need to know, the elf-lord let his gaze rest on her face. She was here, in the flesh. For all his glory, he felt stunted. She was avoiding his eyes and so his gaze stayed on her lowered lashes, strayed to her tense mouth, her slender neck. There was a sheen of mithril, and Glorfindel looked away.

_'I will honor this.'_

Renieth kept her eyes on the approaching figure of Legolas, seemingly uncaring of the strangeness of her silence. When she did speak, her words lacked any luster.

"Yes, I am content."

"All is ready," Legolas spoke as he reached them, and Glorfindel hid a small sigh of relief. "We may begin."

**oOo**

_Forlond, Lindon, late Second Age_

"Faster!" came the sudden strike, his wooden staff colliding with her shoulder.

"That hurt, you orc kisser!" Renieth hissed, ducking her head as a flash of gold gained on her.

"Watch your language, and for the sake of Ilúvatar, move your feet!" Glorfindel urged harshly, falling upon her with frightful ease.

Renieth was retreating, her movements slower, her legs fumbling. "You... you are awful-..." she panted, "This is too much, even for an average recruit!" she barely parried before being flung aside by another vicious strike.

Renieth gasped as he was upon her again, leaving her struggling to regain her balance. "I do not train you to be average," Glorfindel spat in the tone he only ever used with his men. "I train you to stay alive," he kicked her legs from under her before Renieth could preempt him.

She cried out and grabbed at his shoulder, and a surprised golden elf crumbled together with her in a heap onto the hard ground.

Their faces came to be so close she could see the dormant lights of power in his eyes. She panted against him. "That was unfair."

"Who ever said war is fair? Do you think the enemy will care for the noble blood you carry, or your codes of honor?" Glorfindel asked, appearing not affected in the least by the exertion, his forearms propped on either side of her head. "Now pay attention and stop wasting my time, else you find someone else to teach you."

He was mainly like this, nowadays. Morose, at times even scowling, having little to no patience. His words scalded often, and this change came and stayed with him ever since her coming of age.

When Glorfindel tried to rise however, her thighs turned into a vice around him. Caught off guard, the elf-lord felt a sudden shift of unexpected strength and then felt her weight, pressing him into the earth.

Renieth was smirking as she held him down, finding some familiarity in it. She leaned close to his face. She saw ice and even distaste, and stupid words gurgled in her throat. "I do pay attention, more than you think," she said with a hint of satisfaction, which soon faded at the look he was giving her.

"Get back on your feet."

"I listen," the moonstone dangled from her neck in beams. "I hear your words, harsh when once they had been kind. I feel this wall you are raising higher and higher. I do not understand why. _I_ am not your enemy. I am ..." her voice failed when his eyes narrowed. "I am your Aranye. Return to me." She watched his face, the shape and set of the mouth she knew down to every last detail. His lower lip, a little plumper than the upper one.

"I am right here, to my own dismay. Now rise. Do not make me ask again." But he made no attempt to do so himself, possibly giving her the choice of dignity.

But his touch, it healed, and he was so warm and tense beneath her. "Tell me why you do this." She sounded pitiful and wanton in her demand, she knew, but he near always pushed her to the end of her tether lately.

"I do this for you," the elleth heard him through her panting breaths, his voice gentler, a bleak reminder of _before_.

"I should be grateful, then?" she muttered into his stare. There was a foreign softness to it, and Renieth felt compelled to do something she had not the courage to.

"Aranye, move," the command, though fainter, startled her.

She hated the way he said her name now. Like a nuisance. Though she was loath to release him, Renieth did rise and quietly regained herself as the elf-lord came to his feet. The elleth retrieved her staff and turned her back on him. "I think I have had enough for today."

Renieth started when her weapon was roughly pried from her hand. "As you wish." She flinched at the hardness in his voice. Like claws, leaving raw and festering places in their wake.

She faced him, only to see her former guardian already leaving the practice yard with rushed steps. Renieth fell limply against a tree and covered her face with her now dirty palms. This need had grown, an unlikely illness sinking its sharp teeth into her. As she looked beyond the rolling years of her life, Renieth saw no release.

**oOo**

With training ended for the day, the three elves retraced their steps back to the great gate. It had been no meager challenge for Glorfindel to stand and watch his former charge spar with her prince, and memories of her flushed and panting with exertion were sharper blades than those cutting the air before them. He had to admit that she had much improved, and the elf-lord did wonder how she would fare against him presently. But when Legolas had suggested it upon losing to Glorfindel himself - with a sly grin no less, knowing there were few who could put up against him - the latter had gently refused, and caught the look of relief, if not gratefulness, on her face.

"Alas, humiliation at your hands counts for something, at least," Legolas made light of his defeat. "But my men will nag me for months to come, make no mistake."

"Happy to hear it," Glorfindel replied in kind, unbraiding his hair.

Then, suddenly remembering, the younger elf asked, "You will join us, tonight?"

The confusion was visible. "Tonight?"

Legolas dipped his head forward. "For the harvest feast, and fire gatherings."

"Oh," Glorfindel shook his head. "I am remiss. Of course, your folk hold your harvest festival during this time, do they not?"

Legolas smiled, looking ahead. "Have you participated before?"

He had not. Glorfindel heard of this infamous celebration of the Silvans, held to honor the legacy of ancient days under the stars, before the coming of the Sun and Moon. It was a highly animate affair, it was said, at times bordering on wild and untamed. If his mood had been different, he might have been looking forward to it. "No, Legolas. I have not. And now I will make the sad assumption that you will not allow me to miss it."

Legolas shrugged his shoulders. "Unless you prefer to spend your night like a hermit in solitude, you are, naturally, warmly invited to join us."

There would be refreshments, dancing, and nightlong gatherings lighting hidden coves. Though Glorfindel said nothing of it, the idea currently presented itself as not in the least appealing. He would much rather retire to his rooms, consider possibilities in surveying the land for the journey set ahead. He would forget the memory of Renieth, wild with her blade, short of breath as her strength left her and she fell bonelessly against him, complaining all the while. The way he roughly pushed her away.

_"Again."_

She would throw him withering looks and curses, and he would berate her for it. Then she would strike.

But, all that tiresome training - at least on her part at the time - had yielded results. He recognized techniques she used to struggle with but now employed well. She was also admirably fast, though some mistakes still made the prince the better opponent with a blade. With bow and arrow, she had always been average, though even Glorfindel barely matched the prince in that skill. And now, he felt rather wretched and quite duplicitous. For allowing her space in his thought, for being affected by her frosty demeanor in addition, knowing it was well deserved.

And then, returning to his chamber, these thoughts stayed with him, even when he undressed and stepped into a drawn bath. Falling slack against the metal edge, there surfaced the image of her hands pulling at his hair, when she embraced him with the carelessness of one who knew their worth, her pleas-

The elf-lord ran a hand across his face. He had chosen duty, and his conscience was clear. Should be. But still it all rankled, as did her stifling unease. Wishing to spare her, he was resolute in being more careful to avoid encounters such as today, as much as possible.

He overstayed in the bath and watched as the skin on his fingers wrinkled from the water. The elf rose, at last, looking as though he were ready for punishment and not a celebratory event. Raucous merriment was not something Glorfindel felt he needed at the moment, but his absence would be frowned upon, if not by Legolas, then surely by the king. Thranduil tended to take pride in his parties.

Glorfindel rose and dried himself and his hair with a soft cloth, then dressed. He threw on a tunic with a high neckline falling over dark trousers, and after donning his boots left his chamber for the main hall.

Once there he saw Legolas in casual courtier garb, greeting him from a table laden with food and drink. The wide space was slowly filled with joyful and eager participants, and a pleasant humming raised echoes that danced off the stone walls.

Other long tables bedecked the hall, set with the same harvest boon: forest fruit, sweet and savory dishes, and pastries. There were also bowls of nuts, and platters of dried meats and cheeses as well as varieties of freshly baked bread.

"You remember the wine," Legolas told him merrily when Glorfindel reached the table, taking to pouring the same into his chalice as he spoke. The wine filling the cellars of the Elvenking was famous for both its taste and potency, not to speak of the dangerous or at times hilarious after-effects if one indulged in too much.

Glorfindel smiled as he took his seat. "A certain evening does come to mind."

All rose from their chairs then as the king appeared at the head of the table. "Oh," Thranduil's deep voice was heard, "do you mean that sorry affair where my heir divested me of my most prized bottles for a night with you in the outpost?" he asked with a clear smile as the others regained their seats. He made a slight gesture with his hands to signal the beginning of the feast. Thranduil did not like grand displays of words to keep folk from their meals.

"That was your son's idea and plot in its entirety," Glorfindel corrected, the memory a pleasant one.

"Naturally," Thranduil smirked. "Perish the thought for me to accuse golden Glorfindel of being a bad influence. You were merely following orders," the king added facetiously as he served himself from the nearest platter.

Glorfindel was about to reply when he caught a flutter of material at the corner of his eye, and another come to join them. Renieth quietly nodded her respects to the king, taking her seat beside Legolas. She wore a gown that clung to her hips, and her full hair was loose down her back. She wore no jewels, and Glorfindel always thought she needed none. Her neck was bare, and the mithril shine he had glimpsed before was gone. Renieth gave the prince a brief smile, which still held a depth and meaning that had Glorfindel take to studying the engravings on his wine chalice.

"I was eager to please, and the famed hero of Gondolin craved a good chug of wine that evening," Legolas was adding to the topic. Glorfindel lifted his head and smiled in remembrance.

Dinner was a tedious affair for the warrior of Imladris, as was the avenue of conversation.

"Now, my lord," the prince began, taking a sip of dark wine, "You must share what dealing with a young Renieth was like. No doubt there must be tales with such potential."

Glorfindel, who was presently busy carving an apple on his dessert plate, paused his task only momentarily. Then, without looking at anyone, he said: "It was all so long ago, nothing comes to mind. "

"Come now," Legolas grinned teasingly at Renieth, "there is always something."

"Really, Legolas," the elleth muttered, looking a little abashed.

But the prince had a quest. "You know all of my failings and trite experiences as a youth, and I know nothing of yours. How is that fair?"

Glorfindel placed his knife down and reached for his wine. He drank, then spent a moment staring at the liquid swirling in his chalice. "Renieth was an exemplary charge." He felt their eyes resting on him. Even the king was listening. The elf-lord raised his gaze, searching hers. "I remember no mischief nor anything else, as a matter of fact, to prove otherwise."

"Well..." Legolas made a disappointed sound.

"... except for the time she put seaweed in my boots."

The prince nearly choked on his wine. Thranduil grinned. Renieth was smiling too, though rather tightly.

"I had upset her that day, but I do not remember the reason." He remembered.

"You had refused to intercede with my father, so I could skip an official event and attend a friend's begetting day instead," the daughter of Gil-galad spoke, addressing him for the first time.

Glorfindel nodded slowly. "Ah. Yes. Now I recall."

He then watched as Legolas wrapped his fingers around her shoulder and kissed her cheek, laughing softly. "I said there would be something." He eyed Glorfindel again. "What else, my lord?"

Just then the music began on the rhythm of a happy flute. A harp soon joined as well as other instruments, and merrymakers were already meeting and gliding together in dance. Glorfindel watched them, eager for a change in conversation. "How does the night unfold from here?" he asked the prince instead.

"We are free to do as we like," Legolas replied. "The dances begin here, then continue outside in the forest, close to our halls. I believe the bonfires are already being lit." The prince said no more, but Glorfindel had heard of a different type of merriment - of the more sensual nature - during such a harvest event. The Silvan elves inhabiting these lands, as the Avari in general, were freer of custom, bolder and wilder indeed compared to the ways of the Ñoldor. Glorfindel considered retiring early.

He stood when the meal was done and there was mostly dancing to be had, and a young elleth accosted him for just that. He wanted to politely decline, but then his gaze went to where his former charge was, dancing with her prince. From the depths of him, Glorfindel put forth his warmest smile and took the elleth by the hand, leading her as was required by the flow.

He had not drunk too much, but the wine was working in the warmth he felt all over. He was beginning to look for an escape but was drawn into one of those long lays which took changing partners and wide sweeps across the floor. Glorfindel had never been a courtier. His sought for military leadership and the life he led allowed little time for frivolities along the Ages, and in time he had gotten used to avoiding and relinquishing such to those who found fulfillment in them. To him, it was another duty at best. He released one sprinting youth to her new dancing partner and turned for another. Though hesitation marked his movements, Glorfindel took the smaller hand in his, and felt her palm on his shoulder.

Renieth looked up at him with cautious eyes as he brought her closer.

She was so stiff Glorfindel nearly felt remorse, but they moved together in practiced sequence, as though their bodies remembered one another.

"I will do my best to stay clear of you," Glorfindel spoke first, looking across the room.

He had always been so blunt. "You need not do so for my benefit," Renieth looked between them, as though careful of her steps.

"I am glad, Aranye. I am glad for this, for you." It was expected of him to say so. And why should he not be?

"It matters little whether you are."

Seeing her like this caused a stubborn need to speak of it all. And so he tried. "Renieth, we were waylaid on our return-"

"Stop," her fingers went rigid, digging into his shoulder. "Please. It counts for nothing now."

He did as she asked, and their dance ended in silence, and before long another elleth took her place in his arms. More distracted than he wished to admit, Glorfindel was about to retreat for his chamber when Legolas found him, and ushered him with friendly banter outside, to the glades where the crowds were mingling.

The night was bright with stars, watching them from distant seats. Voices rose in song, memories from the dawn of time. There were many high bonfires, casting alluring warmth and shadows over dancing couples and revelers engrossed in conversation. Glorfindel followed the prince and sat down by one of the fires on soft cushions as Legolas took his place at the side of Renieth, who was already there. Close friends and members of the court joined them, and merry conversation thrived for a while.

The night wore on, and the atmosphere turned sultry before he knew it. Glorfindel saw more couples dancing closer; bolder touches and swaying bodies. Some disappeared here and there within the eaves of the forest, presumably to be alone.

Lost in thought as he was, Glorfindel turned his attention back to the flames, and beyond them. He saw a hand on her hip, fingers tracing the skin of her neck as Renieth kissed her prince with slow, tender craving.

He wanted to look elsewhere and knew he should. _Very well. Punish me._

And so he sat there, his face lit crimson by the flames, listening to her sighs. The music had become low and burst into the rhythm of lascivious drums. Glorfindel considered rising and taking his leave when it became too much, but if he had endured the burns and whip of a Balrog, surely he could weather this. He stared back into the fire, the heat reminding him of the hungry shapes of dark flame. A common reoccurrence. All the trauma weighing on him had been healed and purged in Mandos, but not his memories.

Many of the merrymakers appeared closer still, and there were fewer voices in the air. The night flared and a heady scent of fir and ashes lingered, carried about by a mild wind.

Her eyes had closed. Glorfindel drank, and drank, greatly thankful for the numbing effect of Thranduil's vintage.

Her lashes slowly opened, her lips parted. The elf-lord reclined against the pillows set about the bonfire. One or two higher members of Thranduil's court stopped by, but none stayed too long. After a while the elf-lord saw the royal couple get to their feet, hidden smiles on both their faces as they stole into the forest, unaware of any but each other.

Glorfindel sighed, wishing he had never come.

"Do you wish to partake?" a thin voice sang, and Glorfindel half-rose, resting on his elbows. A young elleth had knelt close to him. Her smile was red, inviting. She held a cup in her hand.

There was meaning to her words, one not so hidden. Glorfindel took in her appearance. The rich wine he had ingested the entire night roiled inside of him. Her hair was black and long, her eyes must have been a shade of blue. Her face, freshly kissed by the fire, reminded him of poppy flowers.

She was closer now as the warrior rose to sit, shoulders nearly touching. Her eyes shone with unveiled desire.

Glorfindel followed her languid expression, his face grave, his sight near doubling from the potency of the drink. He could have this if he wished. Empty abandon had its uses. But when he closed his eyes he would still see _her_ , lost, her face full of delight.

He rose rather slowly to his feet as the elleth followed him with her gaze. His forced smile was shadowed by the flames. "No, no thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'yén' - a unit of time used by the Elves of Middle-earth after the first rising of the Sun


	4. Chapter 4

_Imladris, Second Age 3434_

Glorfindel clasped his vambraces on. He had donned all the pieces of his new armor, crafted from a surprisingly light and resistant alloy. It had been commissioned some time ago but as efforts were mainly poured into the forging of weapons for the larger, united host, it had only been finished today. His eyes skimmed over the simple, practical design. He would weather it during the march South. He tried movement, with and without his sword, and all flowed unhindered. Pleased, he placed the blade in its gilded scabbard and set it upon an empty stand in the spacious chamber.

His gaze swept beyond the tall windows towards the hidden valley, where sleepy foothills and restless falls melted together in hues of soft greens and cold, foaming white. He watched the darkening of the light into thin strips of yellow burning across the sky, grazing the snowy peaks of the mountains he would soon cross. High King Gil-galad's ambitious plan to take a stand and advance on Mordor had come to fruition, and a great host was united from across Arnor and Gondor, amassed and readied at last. Glorfindel closed his eyes before the remnants of a falling day, and let his mind wander; the silence was eerie, and a bemused frown passed his features, for it was also welcomed and soothing. Outside, tall waterfalls yielded into shivering blue pools surrounded by lush green. Their tumult brushed softly against his mind, and it disentangled as ribbons drifting in the wind. A great stream hastened and time plied in on itself, dispersing in endless circles.

The hosts of Gil-galad and Elendil the Tall had reached Imladris three years past, to plan and prepare. And now the day was upon them: the alliance was ready for their long journey ahead, to challenge Sauron in his own lair, in hopes to spare the realms of his shadows. Glorfindel ground his teeth as an image of black fire snapped before his eyes, and the smell of burnt skin wafted through the room. Gondolin hailed as a memory, and looking to the Hithaeglir, he saw great slithering shapes burning their way down along their peaks, red and black and metallic.

A few broken knocks on the door of his chamber derailed his streaming thoughts. Relieved in a way, Glorfindel still frowned, wondering who it could be for he had already seen to all matters left unsolved. But as his spirit reached forward, he sensed the searching of a young, familiar fëa, and sure enough, upon opening the door he stared into cutting dark eyes; he could feel the writhing sea around her, even here.

Tall, drawn, and weary, Renieth appeared startled only a moment, her gaze drifting from his pauldrons to his breastplate, to his vambraces and gauntlets, down to his greaves. Her eyes softened at the sight of him clad for war but swiftly regained their hardness, and she stepped past him uninvited.

Glorfindel closed the door behind his unsought for visitor, denying her searching fëa, and crossed his arms. "Why are you here, Renieth?" he cocked his head, his blue eyes narrowing upon her.

Renieth sent him a furtive glance, wringing her hands as she began pacing back and forth through the space. She stopped before the window, throwing the peaceful valley a morose, baleful look. "You could have sustained me, earlier," she seethed, her shoulders tensed and hunched together, her head bowed between them.

Glorfindel said nothing but sought her gaze, his stare insistent and lingering until Renieth felt its harsh, demanding light upon her. Her eyes hastily locked on his.

"That was your battle, not mine." This was in regards to the last events of the day, when Renieth stood before Gil-galad and begged her father, one last time, for leave to join the campaign. She had never seen war, had merely witnessed skirmishes along their long journey to Imladris from faraway Lindon. It had been a hard road, trodden in no easy conditions. Gil-galad, of course, had listened, repeated his reasons, and had declined - for the last time.

"I have journeyed with you here to be useful, to be of aid," the elleth insisted, despaired at what Renieth perceived to be a failure - being left behind, parted from all those she had left. The notion made her head spin and a weight settled on her chest, making it a chore to breathe.

"...with the understanding that you would remain here, in Imladris," Glorfindel finished tersely for her. "To await us and be appraised regularly of the most recent changes. The king chose wisely in this, as I hope you will see in time. And, above all else, you are still his subject, Renieth."

She wanted to shake him. King before father, service before personal fulfillment, honor, battle, war, death... This was who he was. How could this be all that he was? Renieth looked to her feet and chewed on her own bile, swallowing it down so it slid, bitter into the pit of her stomach. Her gaze snapped his way, lit with fuming resent, but she said nothing though her mouth coiled like a snake. He always wrapped himself in his Wisdom - like an old, heavy chain, in endless loops, and Renieth barely caught sight of him anymore. She lowered her head again, in shame and loathing for her own desires, her fingers clutching and worrying at the folds of her dress.

Glorfindel for his part felt at a loss, thinking of how the elleth stood before her unflinching father; how she mustered all her dignity to withstand the king in his refusal, how her eyes had found him in an urgent plea. _Speak for me. You trained me. You know my worth. Aid me to go. Bring me with you. Speak for me._

Glorfindel had done neither. Instead, he agreed with the king, and excused himself, ignoring the muted appeal of her spirit reaching for his. He turned blind and took his leave as he often would when allowing the royal family their privacy.

The sharp cry of a great eagle glittered into the twilight and flooded the chamber from afar, recalling the present; an omen of strife and change - and hope.

Renieth stood expectant, watching him, his awareness lost between two worlds, cast in his distracting, ancient beauty. Late his gaze turned to her, and it seemed to gleam like sapphires from within. Without a moment's hesitation, he swayed towards her. "Aranye," the warrior drew close and removed one gauntlet, then the other, throwing them carelessly onto a table before placing a hand to the crown of her head. "You know the reason. Accept it."

She snorted derisively, shrugging away. Duty. Keeping the line of the High Kings alive. Lying in wait without knowing how they fared, lurking in this forgotten refuge like a coward, parted from their good folk, from her father, from-...

Her gaze shot back to his, and helpless anger rose at his frosty, sensible words. "I do not want this! There are others worthier than I, and you know I am no ruler, and never will be. I cannot..." her words became faint. "I am not of the Wise, and I cannot but feel that... that this is not for me." Her eyes were fearful and she swallowed guiltily, as though admitting a failure in her blood. Her fingers were restless, and soon found their way to his arm, sliding down to his wrist. Her eyes filled. "Laurefindil, I cannot stay here," her gaze scoured his urgently, her fingers clutched at him. "Do not leave me behind."

Unable to stand and watch her misery, as many, many years ago when she would need him, Glorfindel brought her in, being met with a fierce response for one so slight.

Her hands were shackled around his neck."I can fight. I cannot rule," Renieth grumbled, her dark hair covering her face. "And what if anything happens to father? I will never forgive myself, for not being there," she hid her face into him, the breastplate cold against her cheek.

"Tomorrow, you should go to him," Glorfindel said mildly. "Before we leave for the crossing."

Renieth nodded, then looked up at him. "Laurefindil," she said his name as if it were a guilty thrill.

To make matters worse, his treacherous body appeared to welcome her and to his horror, there was a hot trickle of lust spearing down his belly, stiffening him for the first time he remembered after his return on this side of the sea. Glorfindel slowly pried himself away. "Go and rest. Tomorrow will be a trying day, for all of us." He said no more, but attempted to wrap his light around her, soothe her with his care; the pure, unchanged threads flowing between them, completely different from the stubborn need roiling in his blood, making him feel like a traitor.

Renieth looked at him, dejected. "I am afraid."

"I know, Aranye." He looked to his sword hand briefly, and saw the ghostly marks of a fire whip. "So am I."

The elleth made a coarse noise of disbelief. "I thought lies were beneath you."

Glorfindel placed a finger under her chin, tipped her gaze up to his. "Do you remember what I told you, about the Thoronath?"

Renieth sighed. "Of course I remember."

"Well?"

A warm chamber, a roaring hearth, his voice, low and sweet, his striking features limned with red and gold. "That fear drove you forward," Renieth remembered reluctantly. "Fear of them winning the day, of your trials being in vain."

"None are exempt from it." He tried a warming smile even as Renieth reached and ran her hand across the cold breastplate.

"Is it not heavy?" Broken and dented by black, oily blades. Renieth flinched.

"No," Glorfindel watched her palms come flat against him. He looked to the door, aware and much unsettled by having the High king's daughter in his chambers. "You ought to leave," he urged, reaching to keep her at bay by her arms.

Renieth looked to the cream-colored tiles on the floor, and her face flushed as her eyes became misted. "Laurefindil, please..."

His face turned impatient then, and there was a tremble to the set line of his mouth. "Renieth, look at me. There is nothing heroic about this. There is nothing thrilling about it, believe you me. It is certainly not worth being caught in the midst of it. We do this because we must. Do you understand?" His light darkened around her and his eyes were embers, and Renieth saw in them the bloodied Ages, ravages of wars unending. And he was enmeshed in all of them, to the end, blood and soot pouring down his blade, his face. She shivered and felt her skin prickle, turning her face in recoil from the intruding vision.

"Aranye-"

"Do not call me that," Renieth quipped unkindly. It was a reminder of better days - gone now. She watched him in silence, when a sudden change came upon her features. It was softer, wanting. "Will you let me braid your hair?" She had done so for him in the past, before Glorfindel rode for one mission or another.

The elf-lord released her. He opened his mouth, but then his lips pressed back together in a thin line. She looked as wretched as he felt.

"Let me," she reached for a lock of his hair. "Like old times," Renieth wiped her face impatiently with her other hand. He had seen her in a shameful, crying heap before. Chastened by the circumstance, the elleth regained her unraveling control. She would not be the one risking her life. It was unworthy.

Glorfindel sighed. "And then you leave for rest."

"Yes."

He acquiesced, briefly looking out the window to see night descended over the valley. He began removing his vambraces, then the breastplate, placing them aside. After shedding his greaves and left only in his light clothes, Glorfindel went to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress lowered with her added weight as Renieth climbed up close to him. Her touch sifted through his bright strands as she began her task, weaving thread upon thread, her fingers moving swiftly and deftly. They were warm, like rays against his temple.

"There, partly done," Renieth said with a smile as she moved on the other side of him, rising to her knees in bed.

She felt nearer, and Glorfindel closed his eyes, knowing he should not allow any of this. But the way she had asked, the reality of being parted from her- "Are you done?" he asked bluntly, wishing for her to leave sooner than later.

"Not yet," Renieth said with the voice of someone half there, absorbed by other matters.

Though on a precarious edge and ticking with unease, Glorfindel found that he allowed himself the selfish pleasure of delighting in her touch, light and fast against his cheekbone and brow.

"I am finished," Renieth said at last as he opened his eyes.

Glorfindel turned to look at his former charge. There was something desperate and hollow in her stare, and in sudden realization he regretted having let her so close. Renieth had not yet released the woven braid, running her fingers along its length as her gaze roamed across his features, settling on his mouth.

Eyes widening, he aimed to draw sharply back, but a damnable need held him prisoner, unable to move even if his life depended on it. He felt a gentle pull on his braid and saw her dress drawn tight around her knees as Renieth rose up to him, and the tension in him snapped into myriads of flickers with her warm mouth pressing upon his.

At first, he could neither push her away nor respond. His heartbeat said the war had already begun, nearly collapsing at her warm sigh against his lips. He felt the strongest stir, felt himself harden and his head spun with a constant churn. Heat. She asked for so little, but it was not his place, not her - Valar, most surely not her, anyone but her. But there came a sudden, crass urge to grasp Renieth and crush her body to his, to see all of her and feel the pressure of skin everywhere, have her begging and clutching at him in rapture and abandon.

The stab of guilt was sharp, as were the talons of reason and so his hand, already reaching to cradle her head and deepen her kiss, instead went to her arm.

Renieth teased his lower lip one last time even as the warrior held her back by her shoulders, thankfully met with little resistance.

"It is you," Renieth spoke swiftly. Her hair was ruffled and loose and falling into her face, and stray strands had caught on her lips.

Glorfindel looked down between them, keeping her at a distance by her arms. He then looked her in the eye. He knew. He had known for so long, and she was a constant reminder, but it still floored him to hear it. "I cannot give you what you seek," he said. He nearly believed it himself. "Anything else, Renieth."

Renieth looked away and her face twisted, in anguish or ire he could barely tell, her lip curling. "We may not see each other again for a long, long time."

"That is a probable outcome," Glorfindel brought the elleth to him again, rendering his earlier action useless. "But in any event, whatever happens - I will find you again. There is no question about it." It was poorly done as words of comfort went, but he had nothing else.

"In the West," Renieth murmured, felt him nodding. She drew herself from his embrace in a near violent flurry, and rose to her feet. "Why do you always push me away?" she demanded, standing before him.

"Renieth," his voice grew serious and brittle, all tenderness wrung from it. "Will you make me repeat the same, for you to understand?"

But Glorfindel was unprepared as she was upon him again, straddling him and pulling at his tunic, wildly claiming his mouth. "It is you," she repeated. "There will be no one else, only you. Laurefindil, please..." her hands gripped his shoulders as they struggled together.

She tasted of fresh fire and youth, and his resolve broke as his arm came roughly around her, but when a mindless groan left his throat it was like cold steel to his heart. Glorfindel shuttered, rising so suddenly he could not be denied and easily whirled Renieth away from him, holding her fast. Her back rose and fell against his chest. "Leave and take your rest," he ordered as the elleth strained in surprise and hurt, struggling to be free. "I will see you tomorrow, and that will be our farewell. Now go."

He released her and Renieth stumbled forward, unsteady on her feet. She turned to him with hurt and resentment. "You are wise. Very wise indeed. But not in this. You may _never_ see me again," and with this she whirled to the door. When the walls shook from the force of it being slammed shut, Glorfindel stood and took a few steadying breaths, listening to the rush of blood in his ears, his chest, willing the waterfalls to quell his inflamed body. He ordered himself to stillness then went and dropped down on the edge of his bed, hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

The waterfalls were ceaseless outside. The world was the same. He closed his eyes, and sought his peace.

The same falls, no, different ones, roaring by a dark forest. She was there, enveloped by their cold mist. Not the past. He frowned, his eye turned upon a circle that moved at the edge of his sight. Not the present. The vision faded as the threads of time unwove and sprang back into place, and despite it all, Glorfindel lowered his head and smiled.

**oOo**

He awoke from a dream of grey shadow and smatterings of deep, visceral remorse. At least in his sleep contrived mind he could face her, could dwell on the velvet shadow of the past. He did not, however, dare to dwell on his remorse and even less on the reason behind it. Rising in bed, his hair tousled and a beaming, golden mess as rarely seen, Glorfindel garnered that he was still wearing his boots, and the previous night's garments. His palm went to his forehead, pulsating with demanding urgency. With a grimace and a frown the elf stood, ordering his mind into blankness, shoving the night's fantasies into the darkest lit corner of his lesser self. All of it was unworthy, both of him and the memory of her. It was bad enough as it was, but still an image or two from the night would emerge and cause him to miss a step on his way to the bath chamber. He smiled, in wonder and despair at the mess her presence had caused in him. But the ease of slipping back into forbidden, abject desire after so long, was nothing short of frightening.

When he finished and dressed Glorfindel threw back his hair in a wet tangle, and tried to regain some piece of lordly dignity he usually did not need.

As the cold clothes touched his skin, the sights of the previous night's celebration returned. Ages were past him but nothing had changed, and seeing her with the prince had the most unwelcome effect. Still, as she herself had said, it counted for nothing now. They had been apart for so long that he barely recognized her at times, for much of Renieth was not as he remembered. Glorfindel tried to find peace in this, sudden though the discovery had come. Along the years he had wondered. He had searched for answers as to where she went and what became of her after leaving Imladris, and why she had not disclosed her journey's end to any. Maybe she did not know it herself, at the time. If only he had been there, after... but that event Glorfindel pushed from his thought, reasoning it had all been beyond his powers to control - no matter how much it had grieved him at the time.

With a serene smile which almost passed for honest, he crossed the halls of the Wood-elves, where the dealings of the day had already begun. The Silvan elves were swift and lively, rushing streams setting about their daily routine.

Glorfindel remembered he was to meet the son of Thranduil to reconsider their mapping of the infestation in the forest and its planned purging. Elrond had told him of the shadow he felt growing in the South, and his suspicions as to the source, but little else than scouting its whereabouts would reveal more. And Thranduil, though reluctant to involve himself with Imladris or any other realm for that matter, was wise enough to see that any progress would be in the favor of the Greenwood as well, dark and ill though it had become lately.

Glorfindel crossed the field to the barracks commander's quarters and stepped inside. The wide room was dressed in dark wood, and the walls were laden with weapons of masterful build and sleekness. His eye caught Legolas, who was already there parsing through paperwork.

"You look rather fresh," the prince greeted him with a friendly gesture, glancing up from the papers with a raised eyebrow.

Glorfindel appraised the other elf. He surely must be feeling better than he did, at any rate. He looked it, if nothing else. He met Legolas' eyes with a pained expression. "My head denounces your unruly vintage."

Legolas smiled broader, the vision of a bright spring dawn. He pushed a jug of clear water on his desk towards Glorfindel. "We will begin as soon as Renieth arrives."

Glorfindel hesitated, thinking he misheard. "Renieth?" his face showed only part of his wonder.

Legolas lifted his eyes from the papers again. "Yes, she oversees the supplies and expenses for our scouting units. She is a scout herself, and she comes with us."

So much for keeping his distance. If lord Glorfindel had hoped for a smooth transition through the day, that hope was now slowly dwindling into bleak resignation. He closed his mouth and lowered his gaze to the scrolls and maps, remembering in time that it was not his place to comment. Whatever Renieth did or did not do was long beyond his right to question, or Eru forbid, fret over.

They poured over the map together to discuss positioning and methods of addressing the known areas with the most potential monster nests, and time flew steadily by.

Glorfindel heard when Renieth came to join them - light, sure tipped steps. He lifted his gaze.

She was clothed in the same plain scouting uniform as Legolas, her hair ordered into a single plait. She was accompanied by two of the captains who would join the scouting expedition.

Glorfindel found, with a mild form of annoyance unbecoming indeed, that she, too, looked quite well - considering the previous night, and how late it probably ended for her. He tried not to dwell on the _probable_ , or the images of her at the fire gathering.

With brief greetings exchanged the meeting began. They covered matters of supply and requisition, counting the numbers as final calculations were noted by Renieth on a scroll she had brought.

"We split into two formations," Legolas was saying, his head bent over the map. "We travel along the forest paths here," he was showing Glorfindel. Legolas would lead one unit, while Glorfindel would set out with another and so would meet at a designated place in the South, where the darkness upon the land was thicker, based on their observations thus far.

"Efficient enough. And who will you appoint to aid me with direction?" While the scouts knew the forest well, Glorfindel did not. He needed someone close by him to convene with on strategy and paths to take.

The prince raised his gaze and opened his mouth, but it was Renieth who spoke. "I could take that task, Legolas."

Glorfindel looked at Renieth, masking his surprise with astonishing alacrity. But the elleth was staring resolutely at the prince.

Legolas blinked and tilted his head, then smiled softly though it appeared rather tight. Glorfindel guessed the reason. If it were him, he too would rather keep the one he loved well within sight, no matter how impressive their skills.

But the words coming from the prince were, "I think that is fair. You know each other, and that makes great grounds for collaboration, wouldn't you agree?" his gaze locked on Glorfindel.

The elf-lord felt torn between refusal and fear. Knowing there was no sound reason to refuse, he tried fear. "Legolas, as you have said, the Southern eaves are more perilous than the close whereabouts of your home,"

"Concerns unwarranted," Renieth declaimed, cutting him off. "I have walked the paths of these forests for long enough now. I am acquainted with them just as well as the prince or any other member of the forest guard."

Her voice was martial in a way Glorfindel never heard before. It made him feel a known thrill, one he bested swiftly. It was hard to, though, when met with that defiance. The stir it caused diminished him.

"Renieth speaks true," Legolas added. "And in all honesty, if it comes down to peril, I would rather you were with Glorfindel than me," he jested addressing Renieth, who returned his smile with a soft huff.

Glorfindel knew insistence to the contrary would only lead to complications and awkward debates. And though her unlikely offer confused him more than her joining them worried him, Glorfindel merely nodded to both royals in acceptance. He turned to Renieth, and spoke levelly. "I welcome your aid, Aranye. Thank you."

A polite nod was his answer, and they began wading through the rest of the planning details until late into the evening. When all was finished and the others were dismissed Legolas rolled the scrolls and maps. "I should be going ahead," he told them. "Tonight my father holds council and I am to relay our approach. Renieth, will you do me the favor of showing lord Glorfindel our choice of scouting gear and weapons before you join me?"

"Certainly, my lord," Renieth quipped in half jest as the prince briefly took hold of her hand, pressing lightly.

His fingers then grazed her cheek in a promise. "Until later," he added in a changed voice, before nodding a short farewell to Glorfindel as the group made their way outside and took their separate ways.

After the prince left them, Glorfindel gazed towards the quiet elleth. It was baffling to see how swift the change in one's demeanor could happen. Her face was closed like the night before, when she had been stiff as a board in his arms during their dance. But now Renieth bid him follow, and the pair walked in silence to the armory, where the stock was held.

A dark drapery of twilight had set over the forest, and cool, fragrant air drifted between the fir trees. When they entered the now large and empty hall, Glorfindel again followed close behind while Renieth led the way. High walls were lined with shelves stacked with armor and weapons of the kind the Silvan battle style employed. It smelled of old leather and heady evergreen.

"Here," Renieth spoke then in that same flat tone when they came to a halt, stopping before a table with an assortment of weapons. "The wares are up there," she pointed to a high shelf above them. "Inspect and tell me if you have any proposed amendments for your unit's combat style. I will be on the other side." And she made to leave.

Glorfindel smiled, then frowned, shaking his head. "Renieth."

Renieth ceased her stride and turned to him with a questioning air. She appeared much more confident than the previous night around him now.

"Why?" The word was demanding, a commander cornered but not cowed.

Her face was neutral as Renieth crossed her arms at her chest, watching him with mild curiosity. "You will have to elaborate."

Glorfindel appraised her for a moment, a mirthless shadow in his eyes, then smiled coldly. "You, appointing yourself as my head scout." He stepped closer to her. "Why for?"

Renieth looked to the side, then back at him. "You have no in-depth knowledge of our ways."

" _Your_ ways." He tried not to make it sound petty. He failed.

Renieth pressed her lips in a thin line. "It will be easier for you. We know each other."

"Do we, though, Renieth?" the words escaped him. The floors creaked and wailed as Glorfindel walked close to her until they stood inches apart. "I find that many things are different." And he could blame her for none of it. Her life was another now, and she was beholden to one worthy of her - Glorfindel kept telling himself. Renieth was content, had said so herself. He should never have touched her, but with calm clarity Glorfindel felt the warmth of her shoulder beneath his hand. His reason hissed in warning but his hand lingered, moving down her arm.

Renieth watched, trapped in muted consternation, following the movement before meeting his eyes. The patter of rain began striking against the roof, waking her. "Life changes us all," she said swiftly, then added, "Send your modifications through Legolas." She cast a glance about them, as though combing the darkened corners for a hidden presence or other. "I should go."

"Yes, you probably should," Glorfindel agreed, his musical voice hoarse and tumbling from his throat like rocks. His hand fell from her arm.

As a rabbit freed from the clutches of an eagle, Renieth bowed a short farewell and rushed from the armory, tripping once in her haste.

He cast his gaze upon the lifeless shelves, wishing away the unpleasant tremor running down his body, moments after she left. His feet were stubborn and stiff. He brought a fist to his chest and lowered his head, closed his eyes, searching beyond the circles. _Give me sense_ , he pleaded in thought. _Give me reason_. The circles spun and spun around him, but there was nothing. An empty shade of silence. Unbreached, unending. He called again.

Whenever he prayed so deeply, there would be succor; his mind would become still, opening to likelihoods and decisions. He would find at least a form of revelation or other to aid in making the right choice. This time, however, there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cirith Thoronath - the "Eagles' Cleft", a pass through the northern part of the Echoriad, the mountains that encircled Gondolin (and where Glorfindel had his stand against the Balrog).


End file.
